


Blondie

by littlewitch34



Category: One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Universe - College/University, Barista Harry, Harry-centric, M/M, Musician Niall, Ria is secretly Demi Lovato, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewitch34/pseuds/littlewitch34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall comes into the coffeeshop where Harry works, slinging lattes and not-frappuccinos. Harry thinks that Niall is perfection. Now he just needs to pull himself together and get Niall's phone number.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blondie

 

Working at the coffee shop is how Harry earns his money, and how he spends his time when he's not in class. In between making lattes and working the register, Harry drums his fingers on the countertop and invents stories for all the people in the shop.

 

“If you happen to be bored, you could always... you know, _clean_ ,” Harry's coworker, Ria, says.

 

“Not _that_ bored,” Harry says in reply, a cheeky grin on his face.

 

“Well, clean anyway.” Ria twirls her brown (last week, pink-and-blonde) ponytail around her fingers. “Because the floor could use it.”

 

“Yes'm.” Harry salutes Ria, giving Ria a case of the giggles. Harry snatches the mop from the corner, and mops the floor behind the counter quickly, removing all the coffee-spots and drips of flavor syrups.

 

Just as he finishes off the last square-inch of mopping, Ria goes on her cigarette break. Harry knows that a Ria cigarette break really translates to 'chain smoke two cigarettes while furiously texting her girlfriend, Lena.' Harry doesn't begrudge her this; if he'd someone to text with, he'd be doing it, too. He rolls his eyes when Ria flips him off through the big window on the front of the cafe, cigarette dangling from her lips.

 

Moments later, Harry is staring at a blonde boy in a baseball cap, who is walking into the shop. Harry thinks his heart skips a beat, just looking at him. “Oh,” Harry breathes to himself. The blonde is _gorgeous_. Harry looks away quickly; the last thing he needs is either a lecture for staring at the customers, or a punch to the face for checking out the wrong guy.

 

“Hi.” Blondie gives Harry a wide smile. “Can I get a large mocha, please?”

 

 _And he's polite_ , Harry thinks to himself. “Sure,” he says. “For here, or to go?”

 

“For here,” Blondie says, digging through his pocket to get his wallet.

 

 _Good. Now I get to look at you while you're in here._ “It'll be four dollars even,” Harry replies, already reaching for the large mug to make the drink.

 

As Harry steams the milk for the mocha, he tries to think of something good to say to this blonde boy, who Harry is sure is _perfection_. Harry realizes, as he is pouring the espresso shots into the milk, with the mocha syrup, that Blondie might not even be into guys. _Shit. Everything sucks,_ Harry thinks to himself _._

 

Harry sets the mug down in front of Blondie, hoping Blondie is going to pay by card, so he can steal a quick glance and get his name. No such luck.

 

“Four, you said?” Blondie is holding out four dollar bills.

 

Harry smiles, takes the money, and says, “Four even.” He watches as Blondie picks up a guitar case in the hand not holding the coffee mug, and goes off to find an empty seat.

 

“You should probably check for drool,” a voice says from behind Harry. He turns and groans when he's face-to-face with Ria, who looks like the cat-caught-the-canary.

 

“Bite me,” Harry mumbles.

 

“You ok?” Ria asks. “Feeling weak-kneed? Need a hit of oxygen?”

 

“Not funny.” Harry sighs and leans on the countertop.

 

“His name is Niall,” Ria says, pushing her bangs out of her face.

 

Harry shoots up from his slouching position. His eyes light up, and he looks at Ria. “You know him?”  
  
“My God, you're precious,” Ria coos, giggling. “Yes. English major who spends more time in the music department than with the bookworms.” Ria starts to pull two espresso shots to make herself a drink. “He's cute.”  
  


“Niall,” Harry breathes. “His name is Niall, and he plays guitar.”  
  
“And sings,” Ria adds, smirking. “Harry, honey. Are you.... are you _smitten_?”

 

“He's gorgeous, Ri,” Harry mutters.

 

“He's got a beautiful voice. I've heard him singing outside the music halls once or twice.” Ria glances at Harry, then turns back to the latte she's making herself. “He's a Tuesday morning regular, you know.” Ria works Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday mornings. “Caramel red-eye. Sometimes a pastry, the little almond croissant ones.”

 

Harry looks at Ria. “But is he--”  
  
“He's into guys,” Ria whispers. She's never one to out someone else, and Harry's newly out of the closet. She doesn't know Niall's status as to how out he really is, so she keeps herself quiet (a near-impossible task for the bubbly, loud girl). Harry adores her for it-- if he could pick an official mascot for himself, it would be Ria, all giggles, smiles, fresh hair-dye, tattoos, and eyeliner.

 

“He... is?” Harry's heart flutters, and maybe he really _does_ feel weak in the knees.

 

“He is,” Ria confirms. “You know, not that it's a _certain_ thing, but he's got a teensy rainbow sticker on his guitar case. Plus, I know someone who knows someone and he's been going to the last couple gay-straight alliance meetings.”

 

“You know everything about everyone on campus,” Harry said, amused.

 

“Everyone thinks I'm in la-la land all the time, but I really do pay attention when people speak.” Ria adds coconut syrup to her coffee cup.

 

“You mean you eavesdrop,” Harry corrects.

 

“That, too,” she says with a grin.

 

Harry grins too. Ria's smile is contagious.

 

“Give him your number,” Ria instructs.

 

“Wait, _what_?” Harry appears horrified. “My...”

 

“Phone number,” Ria says, rolling her eyes. “You know. The number to the phone in your pocket, that you use to call and text people, and shyly browse Grindr without ever using it for its intended purpose.” Harry's cheeks flush at the last part, and Ria smirks. “I knew it.”

 

“I was just curious--” Harry begins.

 

“You've been 'curious' for years,” Ria mutters. “Stop being curious and start doing.”

 

“Doing?” Harry asks, with emphasis on the word, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

“Doing or _doing_ ,” Ria says. “Just use protection.”

 

“It takes quite a bit to get me into bed. I'm no floozy,” Harry informs her, toying with a coffee stirrer as he speaks.

 

“Oh, c'mon, I know that,” she huffs. “You don't even snuggle on the first date.”

 

“Don't be ridiculous.” Harry nudges Ria. “I'm a fan of snuggles.”

 

“So.” Ria's smile is full-force. “Go give Niall your number and get a cuddle-buddy. Go on. You don't know until you try.”

 

“He won't be interested in me,” Harry insists. “I'm--”

 

Ria groans and fills in, “Adorable, funny, sweet, and so ridiculously perfect for any guy you want?”

 

“Ok... fine.” Harry gulps, and he walks out from behind the counter. He slowly approaches Niall, who is scribbling furiously in a beat-up black-and-white composition notebook. Harry's heart nearly stops when Niall looks up at him. He feels like he was caught doing something inappropriate.

 

“H-hi,” Harry stammers out.

 

“Hi,” Niall replies.

 

“I, uh... are you writing music?” Harry could kick himself for how silly he was sure he sounded.

 

Niall looks down at his notebook, then back up at Harry. “Yeah... sort of a hobby, I guess. I play guitar.” Niall's cheeks flush faintly. “I mean... obviously. I don't, uh, carry this guitar around for fun. Well, I mean, I guess I _do_ , since it's a hobby...”

 

“I understand,” Harry says with a smile.

 

“Okay, good.” Niall appears relieved when he says it.

 

“Right... well, um... would you... d'you want a refill?” Harry blurts it out instead of 'would you like to go out sometime?' or 'here's my number, so call me, maybe,' which is the only semi-witty thing he could think of on his way over to ask Niall out.

 

Niall's face had been rather hopeful when Harry started to talk to him, but he appears rather crestfallen now that Harry's asking about a coffee refill instead of anything else.

 

“Oh,” Niall says softly.

 

“On the house,” Harry quickly adds.

 

“Sure thing.” Niall forces a smile to his face.

 

“Be right back with it, then.” Harry manages to say it, despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he rushes back around the counter.

 

“Chicken,” is all Ria whispers to him, before the hissing of the steam wand drowns out anything else she might have to say.

 

“I know I am,” Harry mutters to himself. “I know. Ugh.”

 

When he finishes the refill for Niall, he brings it over.

 

“You know,” Harry says softly, as he sets the drink down on the side table nearest Niall. “They do an open mic night here once a month.”

 

“I know.” Niall's reply is just as quiet. “I've been trying to grow a pair and do it. “He chuckles a little and ducks his head. “That sounds stupid, I know.”

 

“Didn’t,” Harry promises. “It takes a lot to get up in front of people and perform.”

 

“Maybe next month.” Niall smiles. “I could try.”

 

Harry shrugs, though inside, he's jumping for joy. “I bet you'd be great.” He wants to drop into the empty seat by Niall and ask for Niall to play for him that very moment. He somehow manages to control himself enough to keep the words from spilling out of him.

 

“Thanks. Uh... your friend, she, um... she's got a line at the counter.” Niall points behind Harry.

 

“Shit!” Harry yelps, and he scampers across the cafe to help with the line.

 

The rush lasts the better part of an hour. After that, and when Harry gets a second to breathe again, he looks toward Niall's seat. To his horror, the seat is now occupied by a bleach-blonde girl in a bright pink sorority sweatshirt, her french-manicured nails clicking away at her cell phone.

 

“He just left,” Ria murmurs, settling a hand on Harry's shoulder.

 

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles.

 

“Bussed his own table,” Ria says.

 

“He's polite.” Harry slumps down, his head in his hands. “I'm an idiot.”

 

“When he returned his empty mug, he left this.” Ria holds out a slip of lined paper, obviously torn out of a notebook.

 

_Harry –_

 

_555-912-4041._

 

  * _Niall._




 

Harry holds the slip of paper in both hands, trembling anxiously. He can't even hear Ria's amused giggles when he rushes into the stock room to let out an excited cheer.


End file.
